


Reclaimed

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-09
Updated: 2007-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John hovers while Keller's checking Rodney over, testing his vitals and drawing blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reclaimed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Taken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/118256) by [sheafrotherdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon). 



John hovers while Keller's checking Rodney over, testing his vitals and drawing blood. Rodney's still half out of it, periodically asking if anyone's told John he's okay, not connecting the dots to understand that the guy who's standing by his bed is the same guy who lingers in resilient sense-memory. Someone cleans up Rodney's cuts and bruises, wraps up his wrists, and he's sitting on the edge of the bed when the rest of his brain kicks in, when his head snaps up and his gaze locks on John, so hungry and needy it makes something hurt deep inside John's chest.

"Oh," Rodney says, wide-eyed and shocky. "Hi, you - hi. How long have you – " He waves the hand that's not being bandaged. " – been standing there?"

John shrugs like it's no big thing. "The whole time," he replies, pushing off from where he's been leaning against the wall.

"The whole – but I . . . " Rodney looks behind him, then back at John, obviously confused. "I'm sorry, I really am, I didn't mean to worry you, I just got – " He frowns. "I don't know what I got. I was – was gone, I think?"

The medical tech shoots a glance John's way and seems relieved when he gives her the eyebrow of 'scram.' "Sure," John agrees once the tech's out of the picture. "But not for long. Came after you."

"Hmm," Rodney says, risking a small smile. "Course. You don't leave people behind."

"I don't leave _you_ behind," John murmurs, standing as close as he dares, thighs barely brushing Rodney's knees.

Rodney's mouth works a little and he frowns again, hand rising and falling back against the mattress, a helpless gesture. "I'm so glad to see you," he eventually says in a heartfelt rush and he leans forward, wraps his arms around John and holds on with what feels like every ounce of his might.

"Hey," John whispers, and it's almost in public, but it's not like anyone cares anymore; it's not like it's news. So he wraps his arms around Rodney, closes his eyes and works a bit of mental magic so that it's more like pulling him close in bed than holding onto him in the infirmary, pressing his face into the bird's-nest of Rodney's hair.

"Is it all okay now?" Rodney asks, voice muffled against John's shirt.

"Safe as houses," John says. "You're - just a little sick."

"Sicker than usual?"

John huffs a breath of laughter. "Not that kind . . ."

"Oh." Rodney pulls back, looks at him with a hesitant, sheepish smile. "That's good."

Which is when John has to lean in and kiss him, relishing the press of cracked, dry lips, warm against his own. "Wanna go home?" he whispers.

"Oh, yeah," Rodney says before he kisses him back, fingers twisting in John's rolled-up shirtsleeves. "Yes, please." But it turns out neither of them can really find the motivation for a good, long while.


End file.
